Every day, it’s the same.
A roar like a thousand honeybees pours into the ears, and there is the feeling of being hurled around the edges of a vigorous whirlpool of light, orbiting around... what is this?
A glimpse of the center is too dizzying, and though I always try, I can never look into it for long. There’s something that I’m supposed to be doing with this bright vortex-- an urgent mission rings in my ears with the loud hum-- a silence hidden in the noise.
I hear it, yet it reminds me that there is still much to be done in these next few seconds.
Each day the task looms before me, still obscured by the incessant spin, and while I once had an eternity to design an interface with this thing that surrounded me, I am now determined to take command of this etheric tornado, this persistent eddy of familiar and mortal urgency, and there can be no more delay.
Giving the Mirror a Face
Try giving the mirror a face, but a face with no head only flutters away into the mist.
Give the face a head, and the brain within it is disconnected, and begins to flail and dissipate in the chaos.
Give the head a neck, so that right and my left can be defined, but the newly-brained head remembers that only the heart can tell the difference between the two.
Shall I give the mirror a heart? Then it will surely attract a head and neck, to know right from left, perhaps learn to flow within the spin like a dancer.
Can’t I stop the spinning long enough to assemble this thing?
The urgency seems to be the very medium in which I’m immersed, and I’m obviously expected to tame this swirling beam, somehow, within the next few seconds, or even immediately.
As I frantically try to find some legs to attach to myself, a faint memory of myself standing upon a springy surface sends a blinding ripple through the grid of inwardly-falling light-- what is up, and what is down are separated-- am I falling in, or is in falling out?
A foundation... of course!
We don’t build from the top down, do we? Just as a car without wheels is just a painted metal box, this colorful whirlwind that enclosed me now wasn’t going anywhere until I could become it, and then plant myself upon the ground with a purposeful organic thump.
Here, a form emerges from the glow, then another.
There comes to me at once a sense of awakening, or the feeling that I have somehow come out of the edge of a dream to assemble a physical form, a hand-made vehicle which I’m finally ready to try to operate.
As soon as the fog evaporates from the glass in the morning light, the moment I hear the first bird, then I’ll be licensed to open both eyes and to stand upon the new legs. It all comes back to me, every day, as I recognize the air and the pressing bed and pillow; everything that I do from this point onward will be up to me to choose.
all photos above are mine, 2018- for more variety, pictures and stories, click below
@therealpaul